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Mission Statement

The Cresset, a journal of commentary on literature, the arts, and public affairs, explores ideas and trends in contemporary culture from a perspective grounded in the Lutheran tradition of scholarship, freedom, and faith while informed by the wisdom of the broader Christian community.

A Publication of:

Lord,
have mercy.Christ,
have mercy.Lord,
have mercy.Christ,
hear us.Christ,
graciously hear us.God the Father in heavenHave mercy on us.God the Son,
Redeemer of the worldHave mercy on us.God the Holy GhostHave mercy on us.Holy Trinity,
one GodHave mercy on us.

By
Thy Suﬀering and Death —
By the hurt of Judas’
treachery
By the pain of Peter’s denial
By the sweat of blood
By the agony of soul
By the robe of purple and the crown of thorn
By the bite of the whip and the lash of the scourge
By the Way of the Cross
By the nails and thirst
By the blood that stained the Holy Rood
By the travail of Thy soul By
the riven vine and the trodden winepress
By Thy expiring cry By Thy triumph in deathO dying Redeemer,
hear us.

From hardness of heart
and darkness of soul —From coldness of mindFrom trampling Thy blood on
the way of sinFrom driving the nails againFrom crucifying Thee anewFrom forgetfulness of Thy
great sorrowFrom the loneliness of life
without TheeFrom greed and ambitionFrom the lust of the eye and
the pride of lifeFrom the burden of
remembered sinFrom the cunning of menFrom the confusion of
ignoranceFrom hateFrom a jealous heartFrom the last sin of unbeliefO living Redeemer,
deliver us.

For
the heart of man today, afraid —For the sick of body to ease
their painFor the sick of mind to
lighten their gloomFor the sick of soul to
bring them forgivenessFor them who weep aloneFor Thy Life in every broken
heartFor the soul that knows not
TheeFor all who make known Thy
way upon earthFor all who love Thy Holy
NameFor all Thy Church in all
the world —Thou King of Principalities
and Powers, of Thrones and Domin ionsThou Lord of Cherubim and Seraphim,
of angels and archangelsThou Prince of Peace and
Glory, of Kingdoms and EmpiresO dying and living Redeemer,
hear us.

Nostalgia

This month the remainder of this column
is being written far away from,
books — on trains and
ferries, in railroad stations and bus stops,
beside mountains and rivers… This ought to please several readers who have
complained that the Pilgrim cannot see life because of his lamp… All right… I
am now beside a lamppost on the edge of a little town in Western Oregon — and
the pencil moves in obedience to the rhythm of life in an American village at
late dusk… Everyone who is compelled by time and circumstance to live in the
monstrous cities our age has built must feel at times a nostalgia for the small
town at twilight… The shadowed succession of dusk and dawn — the wind from the
hills as night comes down and the stars burn cold — the lights in the little
church for choir practice — the belated boy running home for supper in the
house across the road — the barking of a dog — the moan of wind in pines — the
water tower black against the drifting stars — all the strange world that lies
between twilight and darkness, and the night whispering of simple,
honest things — of faith and hope and peace and rest… In it is man’s
compass and his joy and grief… It may be that here lives are lived in ignorance
of the heights of possible human experience, but
surely there is less shame and degradation here… In a few moments shadows will
dance on the dust of the road and moonlight will dream on the roofs of little
houses… Like the tolling of the Compline bell I hear the simple lines of Monk
Gibbon:

These going home at
dusk
Along the lane
After the day’s warm work
Do not complain.

Were you to say to them
“What does it mean?
What is it all about
This troubled dream?”

They would not understand
They’d go their way
Or if they spoke at all
They’d surely say:

“Dawn is the time to riseDays are to earnBread and the midday restsDusk to return,

To be content,
to prayTo hear songs sungOr to make wayside loveIf one is young

All from the good God comes
All then is good
Sorrow is known to him
And understood.”

One who had questioned allAnd was not wiseMight be ashamed to meetTheir quiet eyes.

All is so clear to them
All is so plain:
Those who go home at dusk
Along the lane.

Farewell
to Hallelujah

Shrove
Tuesday… At Vespers today — or at the services last Sunday — the church sang
the last Hallelujah and Lent began… From time immemorial the Hallelujah has
been omitted from the services of the church during the season dedicated to the
remembrance of the Passion of our Lord… The last Hallelujah dies away in chapel
and cathedral and while the echo still lingers among the rafters, the violet paraments of
sorrow are placed upon the altar… It will be Easter morning before the
Hallelujah is heard again… There is wisdom in this… It is another and profound
diﬀerence between the
Church and the world… The world never willingly abandons joy… Her votaries hang
on to happiness with all the strength they have — until, inevitably, it is taken away from
them… They have forgotten that the line of life must sometimes go down into the
darkness of sorrow… It is never easy, but it is a great deal better to go down willingly than to
be driven down like a slave. To give up joy by the strength of Him Who gave up
heaven is a part of the way by which joy and heaven will return… Easter can
come only to the heart that has known Lent…

The shadow which clings to alt] earthly
good when it is seen in the light of faith is inevitable… Be cause of this the
Christian view of life appears so much darker than the pagan — checkered
with a darkness the more intense the brighter the light of faith shines upon it…
But the fare well to Hallelujah, though necessary,
is only temporary… It springs from the strong compulsions of the dust from
which we came and the stronger compulsions of the everlasting mercy which
lifted us from that dust… When all is said and done,
Christianity is a religion of deeper gladness just because it is a religion of
deeper fear and greater sorrow… The Cross remains the world climax of divine
and human sorrow, ineffably distant and ineffably
close, the sorrow of sin and the pain of man’s
long and lonely separation from God… So it is good that our Hallelujahs are
silent for a little time… In their stead appear the crown of thorns,
the drops of blood, the way of mourning, the
ﬁve wounds, and the sound of our hands driving nails…
And on Easter Morn our returning Hallelujahs will say that our Lord arose and
ascended into Heaven, that He is now the King of Glory,
Who has given us a share in both His suffering
and His victory, in His passion and His power,
in His former pain and His present peace.